


Out of his Depth

by orphan_account



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Planet, Aliens, Aphrodisiacs, Bottom tord, Cat/Human Hybrids, Fight Club - Freeform, How Do I Tag, Human Trafficking, I Don't Even Know, Interplanetary Travel, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Switching, Top Tom, Top Tord, Trans Male Character, general nastiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 12:05:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15930077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: this is possibly triggering so read with caution please





	Out of his Depth

**Author's Note:**

> I'm feeling dysphoric and generally shit so you know what that means.. TomTord.. also bad ocxcanon  
> I thoroughly apologise
> 
> I was feeling a little hesitant about posting this but if I didn't it would be too much time wasted. sue me  
> Come yell at me at demons-tom-demons on tumblr

The first few things he remembered were flashing lights, and waking up with his hands and feet chained to a metal chair. Then he remembered why he was there. He was an assassin of sorts, and in his travels with his partner in crime, who had gone missing a few weeks before this, he had crashlanded on this planet. 

He had been picked up by some kind of scrapper and brought here. The more he tried to open his eyes the more it hurt, so he didn't bother. A hand on his chin prompted them to snap open in panic. There was a man in front of him, abyssal eyes trained on his face.  
"He's very nice." He spoke to someone behind him, and they gave a soft hum of agreement that caught his attention.

Standing behind the man was another, taller man. His mousey brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, the front bits hanging slightly over his face. He was clad in a navy blue jacket over a red sweater, with brown boots.  
"I thought you'd like him." They said, face still cold. "But I'd like to get paid."

"Very well." The man let go of his chin. "Matt, transfer five hundred thousand units to Patryck."  
He waved his hand in Matt's direction, and then turned his attention back to the man on the chair.  
"What's your name?" He asked, and the man I'm the chair shifted.  
"Tord." He replied stiffly, wishing he was back on his starship.  
"Tord." The man straightened up. "My name is Tom. Have Tord cleaned up and brought to my quarters."

That was how Tord found himself sitting on a stranger's bed in a thin silk bathrobe. He had been very thoroughly cleaned, and was now incredibly uncomfortable. He was mulling over his options when the door opened and Tom stepped inside. 

He felt inclined to stand, so he did, and Tom ran his hand along his jaw. Tord tried to lean away from his touch, but a gentle tap to a certain spot on the back of his neck had him going completely limp.  
"Good boy." Tom purred, walking forward. For every step he took forward, Tord took a step back.

Eventually, Tord was pressed underneath him on the bed, his face beginning to flush.  
"Sir-" he began, but another sharp tap had him silenced. A soft kiss was pressed to his neck, and he gasped. As Tom's fingers began to go lower, it triggered his flight or fight response and he lashed out, kicking Tom in the chest. He scrambled backwards off the bed, finding his footing and getting into the best defensive pose he could.

"Good, good." Tom purred, clapping his hands together. "You'll be an excellent contender."  
Tord's eyebrows furrowed as he considered what that meant.  
"Contender?" He asked, and Tom nodded, catlike grin spreading across his face.  
"You're going to be a fighter."

Tord mulled this over, and before he could fully process it, he was pinned with his front pressed into the bed again with two fingers on his pressure point.  
"You, however, don't get a say in this." Tom slid his other hand downwards, and Tord stiffened as he brushed over his hole, tracing over his quickly hardening cock.  
"You're already so excited." Tom chuckled, and Tord whimpered, but didn't try and shift. He was powerless, but he wasn't going to beg. He didn't beg.

"I'm not going any further unless you ask." Tom began to gently rub Tord's cock, and the man began to buck up into his hand. He had a very small cock, only about four or five inches, but it was cute. He would stick to his policy. If he wasn't going to ask for it, he wasn't going to get it.  
"Could you please get off me?" He asked, and Tom chuckled darkly, speeding up with his stroking until Tord came across the sheets with an agitated cry.

"So that's your deal, huh?" Tom asked, not slowing down his hand movements, "I've been watching you for quite a while. You prance around in your little getup, pulling guns on people, but when it comes down to this you're completely inexperienced. It's kinda cute."  
"I have experience on top." Tord defended weakly.

The motions were beginning to turn into overstimulation, and soon enough, Tord came again, shoulders heaving in a dry sob.  
"Stop." He demanded, and Tom almost looked to be considering it, until he gave the pressure point a particular cruel tap and Tord dipped into unconsciousness for a moment, emerging in the other side with panic written all over his perfect features.

Eventually, Tom's weight shifted and he stood, allowing Tord to roll over. His pretty face was stained with tears of humiliation and overstimulation, and when Tom gently stroked his head, he stilled, not daring to move.  
"Get yourself cleaned up." Tom ordered, handing him a wet cloth.  
"What the fuck is this planet?" He asked, and Tom raised his eyes.  
"You're on Nowhere." He told him. "It's a place for lost things to be found again. You were lost, but you're found now."

"I wasn't lost!" Tord was almost yelling, "I was doing perfectly fine! I didn't need to be "found"!"  
Another sharp tap to his pressure point, and he was out like a light. 

 

When he woke up, he was chained to the wall, his arms above his head. He gave a soft whimper, tucking his legs into his body, or at least trying to. They too were chained down . This wasn't the same room, but he let that slip in favour of trying to pull his arms out of the restraints.

That only really rattled the chains, drawing the attention of the figure across the room. They were sat at a desk, writing on something, and turned around when heard the noises.  
"Ah, good. You're awake. The first fight starts soon, so you'd better get ready. I've had someone come up with your armour, and you can choose your weapon when you're down there."

Tord nodded, and was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that when Tom took hold of his hand to undo the chains he jumped. When he was free, Tom handed him his armour, and he looked it over. There was no helmet or anything, but it was most certainly going to defend him from being stabbed through the heart. It wasn't restrictive in any way, but it was inherently uncomfortable. Tom looked him over, and smiled.  
"Let's get you in the arena, then."

 

Tom led him down to a room, and introduced him to his only other fighter. William was a small man, shorter than Tord, lean, easily looked over because of the shy aura he radiated. The most remarkable things about him were the cat ears perched on the sides of his head, and the short tail poking out from the back of his armour. Both of his arms were furred from the elbow down, and his legs were furred from the knees down.

This man was certainly not human. He gave Tord a timid stare, adjusting his grip on the dagger he held in his shaking hands.  
"Are you sure he can kill things, sir?" He asked Tom, who chuckled, "He looks like he could be carried away on the wind."  
"I can assure you I'm entirely competent." William said in his small voice, green, catlike eyes looking straight at Tord. Tord would assume so, as Tom seemed to be doing rather well in this competition.

Soon enough, Tom dragged Tord away from their intense staring match to select a weapon. He settled eventually on a sword, fairly light but not useless.

Then came the wait. It felt like ages before Tord was called up, and even then, he didn't want to. Stepping into the arena, he was greeted by the deafening noise of the crowd. Attempting to block it out, he focused all of his attention on his breathing, and the other entrance to the arena.

The fight was over as soon as it began. They put him up against a low level monster, easily defeated with a few deft blows. After that, he was taken back inside to have the blood cleaned off of him, and sent back out to fight.

When he finally plunged the sword into the last monster, he gave a weak cough and collapsed onto the sand. He had sustained injuries to his legs and arms, and he was losing quite a bit of blood from them. Some unimportant person walked out onto the sand to drag him back, and he was set down with a plastic cup of water to wait for Tom while they bandaged him up.

Tom arrived soon enough with a blanket and a plate of food. He took the food gratefully, and once he had eaten, Tom led him up to his part of the complex again. The way it was set out, is that the competitors and their fighters were assigned a certain part of the huge building for them and their fighters. Tom's section was luxurious, and it had beds soft enough that you didn't actually feel them on your skin.

William had already returned, paying them no mind when they entered. He wasn't wearing a shirt anymore, curled up on the sofa, and Tord could see the two scars underneath his chest. That's why he was so small. William regarded him with the same timidity he had before, tentatively covering his chest when Tord looked at him, ears flat to his head.  
"Good evening, master." He told Tom softly, watching as the two of them walked past.

He allowed Tom to lead him into his own room, practically force his clothes off of him and tuck him into bed. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light.

He awoke to soft daylight filtering through the curtains. Standing up, Tord ran a hand through his hair, and then decided he needed a shower. He began to peel the bandages off of him, setting them down. They needed to be changed anyway. There was a cup of water on his bedside table so he picked it up and drank all of it.

Stepping out of the shower, he saw Tom was waiting for him.  
"Don't worry about your clothes. Just come with me." He ordered, and Tord nodded, wrapping a towel around himself. He felt strange. He was painfully hard, and he felt something weird in the pit of his stomach.

When he was sat on Tom's bed again, the taller man took hold of his chin to stare into his silver eyes.  
"You did so well yesterday, I feel like I should reward you." He purred, more to himself. "Is there anything I can do for you?" 

He let go of Tord's chin, rubbing figure-8s on his hips. The sensation seemed to quell the rising ache in his crotch, but not for long.  
"I want to go home. What did you do to me?" He demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. He was beginning to sweat uncomfortably, so he wiped his forehead.  
"You are home, and it's just a fast acting aphrodisiac mixed with a muscle relaxant. You'll thank me later." Tom reprimanded, his fingers going lower. "You know what you want, don't you?"  
"Y-yes... please.. touch me, sir." He stammered, voice shaking from embarrassment and slight fear. He was playing along now, walking the tightrope that was pleasing his master.  
"Hmm.. I will, but "Sir" is too formal," he began, features turned up in a predatory grin. "Call me Daddy."

Tord flushed red, ears beginning to burn with humiliation. He did not like being submissive.  
"A-a…I..uhm.. yes.. daddy.." He stumbled over the words a little, but he was rewarded with a soft squeeze of his thighs. He would much rather be on top, humiliating Tom, but hey ho, here they were. Tom knelt down, taking the tip of his cock in his mouth. If he closed his eyes, Tord could imagine it was someone else knelt before him, his mind eventually settling on Tom's first fighter. He knew he probably shouldn't be thinking of this, as he wasn't sure of William's age, but, given the current circumstances, he would take what he could get.

He threaded his fingers into Tom's hair, soft "hnn"s falling out of his mouth. It wasn't enough.  
"Please.." He whimpered, and Tom pulled off just long enough to ask.  
"Please what?"  
"Please, daddy. It's not enough. I need more." Tord begged, the burning need in his crotch overriding common sense.  
"You sure?" Tom asked, reaching a hand down to gently touch Tord's entrance.  
"Please." 

That was how he ended up with his face pressed into the bed. He was crying, salty tears pouring down his cheeks. Tom had set a brutal pace, despite the fact he hadn't prepared Tord properly, at all, and every thrust sent the smaller man below him further into the mattress. Soon he was hitting the mattress in frustration. He did not like this feeling. Not. One. Bit. All of the lube in the world probably wouldn't make it better, but somehow had the burning heat in his crotch simmering under control, so he wouldn't complain.

Tom eventually brushed against a spot inside of him that had him locking up and letting out a gasping moan, his cock twitching.  
"That's nice?" Tom asked, angling himself to pound into it. 

Soon enough, Tord let a choked scream rip from his mouth, shooting cum all over the bedsheets. He hated it. He hated himself for asking for it and he hated Tom for forcing him into this situation in the first place. Tom's cock twitched inside of him as Tord tightened, and eventually the man atop him was coming too. He gently nudged Tord's shoulder, who turned his head.  
"You're such a good boy." Tom purred, and Tord felt a soft feeling beginning to spread through his chest. 

By that time he was honestly done with his body. Was he actually feeling affection towards his captor? It wouldn't hurt to get comfortable around him, seeing how he'd be staying here for quite some time probably. Not that time mattered. Tord wasn't human, or at least, not fully human. He looked it, but part of him was something ancient and unidentified, but he knew he couldn't die, and his self healing and senses were incredibly heightened. It was probably cheating when it came to the games, but Tom obviously wasn't one for rules.

Speaking of Tom, he had pulled out, and gotten up.  
"I have things to see to, so be nice to William, will you? Do keep in mind he's pretty much a cat in a human body, but his heat doesn't start for a few days, so there should be no problem."  
"Heat?" Tord asked, pushing himself up and fixing Tom with a confused look.  
"Yeah. Every month or so, he has a three or four day period where he's just perpetually real fucking horny. You don't have to deal with that though."  
"And if I wanted to?" Tord asked, and Tom raised an eyebrow.  
"You'd have to prove yourself in the ring first, but other than that, yeah, if he's ok with it." Tom shrugged on his jacket.

"So he gets a choice?" Tord replied snidely, and Tom narrowed his eyes.  
"You got a choice. I think I even remember you asking for it." He replied coldly, exiting the room.

Tord stayed in Tom's bed for a while, before standing up. He headed back to his own room, getting in the shower. He rubbed at his skin until it was raw, and then, and only then, did he get dressed.

He slipped on the armour, and walked out into what he supposed was the living room. If he was going to compete, he may as well get better at it. William looked up as he entered, now curled up under a blanket.  
"Is there anywhere I could train?" Tord asked him, and the catboy nodded, pointing to the door opposite the one Tord was standing in.

He thanked William and headed on his way, the memory of what Tom had said fresh in his mind. He was determined to channel his self hatred into the fighting, so that was what he did.

By the time Tom came to get him, he had essentially tired himself out, but he still didn't let Tom touch him. Walking into the living room again, Tom went and sat down.  
"You probably want to get some sleep." He advised Tord, who nodded. He walked into his bedroom, stripped off the armour, and sat down.

He rubbed his temples, trying to banish the encroaching memories from resurfacing. It'd probably be better if he slept, he thought, sighing and rolling into bed.


End file.
